


And Cut

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is an editor without any news?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Cut

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mild gore  
> A/N: Why yes, I do have the strangest 'favourite villain', and yes, he does have next to no backstory to play with...

With no floor five hundred, no satellite five, no Mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe... just what was the Editor?

Iit was all becaue of the Doctor, and Rose Tyler, and Adam Mitchell. Those meddling bastards... He'd had a nice little heist going on until they came along. Sure, he was working for Daleks, who were in their turn controlling a conglomerate of banks and doing a very good job, he had surmised, of pretending to be dead, but everyone had their foibles.

His was that he had no scruples. The Jagrafess was abhorrent, but he served him loyally, in exchange for a pretty protection racket and an even prettier paycheck and as for working for the Daleks, well every monster had its head. If it wasn't for his willingness to pander to whatever it was they were planning, his role in manipulating intergalactic news and free will, the Daleks might have exterminated them all long ago. At least, that was what he told himself, if he had trouble sleeping at night.

The kind of power that left him with was almost sickeningly sweet. No one heard the news unless he heard it first. No one had a single free thought on Satellite Five unless he had vetoed it. The the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire, xenophobic though it was, was thralled to only connection it had to the outside world and they didn't care, as long as they had their little upgrades and no alien immigrants came along to steal their jobs.

It was pathetic, really but oh, the power rush... He'd been a minor news editor, once, a journalist with a tiny magazine that no one had ever heard of. Years and years of studying, research, degrees, and no one ever noticed his work until the opening of Satellite Five, and the lucky ticket he'd gotten in the employment lottery. Now he was the biggest somebody around.

He could have ruled the universe, given time. And now he had nothing all over again. The Jagrafess was dead. Satellite Five would never broadcast again. The Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire would have to, horror of horrors, mingle. He could sense the panic in the employees around the station but frankly, he couldn't care less, as he dragged his battered, defeated body away from pieces of the corpse of his former master and desperately tried to think what to do next.

With the station went all his assets, all his contacts, any chance he had of a swift escape... unless he acted quick. News travelled fast, but not that fast, and especially not when he didn't want it to. If he called in a favour before anyone knew what was going on he could be out of the galaxy before the Shadow Proclamation or worse, the Time Agency, got a whiff of him. But when word did get out, he would have to fend for himself, and hope that by the time he was wanted under suspicious of murder, he was long gone.

It wasn't as though he could just go into broadcasting anymore. He'd have a criminal record. Damned if he ran, damned if he didn't, it was all the same, and he refused to be locked up. And his pride wouldn't allow him to return to newspapers where he would fade once more into obscurity amongst a sea of unemployed, augmented human refugees returned to Earth. Oh, it was all the Doctor's fault...

Wait. He'd pulled up something on the Doctor out of that little human man's mind. Time Lord might mean nothing to him now, but it had clearly meant something to the good Doctor. He could use that, and use each and every little bit of information he could find on the man. Every person he had ever known, Time Lord, human or otherwise. Every planet he had ever visited. Every detail he could find on what, exactly, was so special about a TARDIS, and how it could travel – if rumour was to be believed – through time and space. Perhaps the man even had enemies who could aid him in his revenge.

If he could find himself a safe house, some stolen technology, then he could continue to hack into the minds of the Satellite's workers and from their minds, hack into every database in the universe. Of course that was just a theory. He'd never actually dared to try it, never dared to blow his cover so spectacularly but as he limped to the nearest security phone, klaxons and alarms blaring around him, the room suddenly stiflingly hot and stinking of evaporated Jagrafess, he realised he didn't have to care about that anymore. He was a man who had nothing, and soon he would have everything.

And when he had everything, he would have the Doctor, and Rose Tyler, and Adam Mitchell right. Where. He. Wanted them.


End file.
